Not as simple as that

It was around 7 p.m. I was walking down the long corridor again, the one in Club Danube … leaving behind me the Vienna Dance Center, the fading sounds of Justin Timberlake’s “My Love” and a Friday afternoon full of mixed emotions.

I like my hip-hop class, a lot, actually. It’s my time to relax and get my mind off things. The problem is, though, that dance used to be so much more fun when I was back home, in Bulgaria. It wasn’t about going to the hall, memorizing combinations and simply doing the steps to music, but about getting together with friends and performing, putting our souls into the routines …

Now hip hop class is simply a hip hop class, not the class, as it used to be. There is nothing challenging about it – no real excitement, no striving towards achieving more and more every time. I miss the thrill that every rehearsal used to awake in me; I miss the anticipation around the upcoming competitions and festivals, the chills from the sound of the crowd screaming … I miss it. It’s just not the same.

As I headed out, the voice of Justin Timberlake dissolved into the monotonous roar of the cars and busses on the street. Finally in the open, I crossed the street without even looking left or right. A driver slammed on the brakes, opening his side window, cursed at me in German. I paid no attention.

Sure, maybe it was my fault, but I was too busy rerunning the tape in my mind to take notice. I probably should have been grateful, but I didn’t feel it. I continued up the stairs of the Erdberg U-Bahn station and caught sight of my train, pulling away down the track.

I always miss my train; I don’t know how it happens but it does. Six minutes now until the next one. Good, actually! That meant six more minutes lost in thought, remembering my dancer friends back home. The seconds – or was it minutes – that passed while I waited made the next U-Bahn come faster than expected. I stood up slowly, went to the sliding door and pressed the button that turned green at the touch.

The train was almost empty, only a few riders absorbed in their own lives and taking no notice of me or anything else. I went to the far back of the train, sat down, took out my Management book and hid behind its pages …

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THE VIENNA REVIEW is a publication of Vienna Review Publishing GmbH, Vienna, Austria, a journal of news, culture, lifestyle and opinion covering the life and times of Vienna, Austria and the wider Central Europen region. It is published in English.